


A Time of War.

by FeliciaAmelloides



Series: A Oneshot a Day... [144]
Category: nonfandom
Genre: Eastern Front, First Person, Gen, Historical Fanfiction, Violence, World War 2, prisoners of war
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 22:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14725044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaAmelloides/pseuds/FeliciaAmelloides
Summary: An account of an anonymous German soldier during his time in WW2.





	A Time of War.

**Author's Note:**

> For research, I read the account of German solider Walter Warda’s experiences in the Second World War before writing this. I hope it isn’t too historically inaccurate. The Eastern Front interests me because I’ve heard a lot about it which has been disproven in some accounts and proven in others, and it’s interesting to find out more about what actually happened in that time. The account I mentioned above depicts Warda’s time in various Russian prisoner of war camps and his many attempts to escape. He is still alive today as far as I know.

I was only fourteen when the bombs went off.

They scorched the very air around me, sending shrapnel and noise exploding into my ears. I thought I was old enough to understand this. To get why it was happening. But I didn’t. I really didn’t. I still don’t. 

My arm was burned so badly by the fire caused by the nearest bomb to me that I couldn’t move it for three months without it being agony. They discharged me from the army for this time, but sent me back as soon as my arm was good enough to go. 

But this time was different.

I got caught.

I was stupid, really. Running out into No Man’s Land to look brave, to look cool. I wanted a medal for bravery or something. All I got was a kick in the teeth and chains around my wrists. Honestly, I’m just glad they didn’t shoot me on the spot. Maybe it’s because they knew I wasn’t really eighteen. My own commander knew that too, but it was war, and war is desperate. He couldn’t send me back again. Not while I’m there on the front line.

The prison of war camp was the worst place I’d been in in my life. I was starved, endlessly, until I could almost see the white of my ribs underneath my shirt. If I spoke out, I was beaten. If I worked too slowly, I was beaten. If I worked too quickly, I was beaten. My limbs ached from all of the punishments I had felt, but the burns on my arm reminded me that I could survive. If I’d survived a bomb, I could easily survive a bunch of crazy reds and their stupid camp. I just wish it hadn’t been so _cold_. Some people died from it. But I had to survive. I needed to. My mother was waiting for me back home, and my sisters too. I needed to get back to them.

Then they did the most terrible thing they had yet. We were sent out, twenty of us perhaps, I wasn’t sure, to a place they described as the site of ‘The Great Patriotic War’. An English spy was nice enough to tell me that. I never really understood why we were supposed to hate the English. That guy was nice. All the ones I’ve met in my life were nice. I never understood why we had to hate anyone. I didn’t. 

“Entschuldigung Sie bitte! Hilfe! Hilfe bitte! Hilfe!” My former comrades would cry out to their commanders while cradling their fallen kin. I watched, shocked and stricken by guilt and grief, as bodies crumpled to the ground beneath my bullets. I was told to fire, and not to stop until everyone around me was dead. But the German they spoke, it was my tongue, my language. I was being forced to murder my own comrades, my own friends, and I was powerless to stop it. I wanted to cry at the time, and hated myself for not being able to. But the cold of the Eastern Front had settled both in my bones and in my heart. I could not cry, for if I showed any sign of weakness whatsoever they’d kill me.

Cannon fodder, that’s what we were. Just useless, pitiless cannon fodder, fighting a losing battle for no reason. I hated it. I wanted to go home. To see my family. I wanted Hitler to leave our country alone, and I wanted to forget about the Jews and the Aryans and the Reds. I just wanted to sleep in a warm bed, with a bowl of food waiting for me in the morning, my sisters smiles and ‘gut morgen’s as I woke up. The tears fell at night, when I was lying in painful wait for the commander to scream at us to get up and run from the next wave of shells. I wasn’t the only one.

I was lucky, however, in that I was captured rather late into the war. They sent me to a labour camp after the fighting ended, and I hated it, of course I did, but at least I wasn’t shooting people anymore. I made a few friends, and we looked out for each other. Three of them died, but I didn’t cry for any of them. People came and went in war; I got used to it.

A few years after the war ended, I was released. It was long, hard, and painful, but it was over. I was okay. I was free. Life went on. But for a long time, I didn’t feel that way. Nightmares haunted me for months. But now, I’m alright. And I tell you this because no one should have to experience such things in their lives. This shouldn’t have happened, and I don’t want it to happen again.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t go into too much detail because this is a short oneshot, but it is supposed to represent an anonymous German prisoner of war in a Russian labour camp (there were millions of people like this). This particular person was only fifteen or sixteen, but lied about his age to get into the military as many young men did before realising the mistake they made in doing so. This happened a lot in my country, but I don’t know if it was as frequent in Germany- I’m assuming it did happen, so it doesn’t make my writing immediately inaccurate.
> 
> Sorry for the bad German- I haven’t studied it in two years so I’m a little rusty. The first bit roughly translates to ‘Excuse me! Help! Please help me!’ and the second brief bit translates to ‘good morning’. I thought it would be more realistic if I actually used German, especially since I already know a bit of the language so I didn’t have to use a translator.
> 
> Prompt- Real World fanfic.
> 
> I decided to make it a historical work rather than a fanfic about myself so readers would be able to understand it better. Hopefully that worked!
> 
> Original Number- 208.


End file.
